


A Quiet Morning

by jooliewrites



Series: Season 2 Coliver Codas [13]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Coda, Domestic, Episode Related, Episode: s02 e13 Something Bad Happened, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t until streaks of orange and red started sneaking in through the windows that Connor realized he’d lost track of time.</p>
<p>Now, watching Oliver instead of the clock, Connor saw Oliver scrunch his nose and tuck his face away in Connor’s arm to block the light.<br/>“Morning, Ollie,” Connor whispered, so quiet it was barely audible.</p>
<p>With his face still hidden away in Connor’s arm, Oliver shook his head. “No.”</p>
<p>Biting his lip to hold back a chuckle, Connor kissed Oliver’s forehead. “Come on.” Connor gently pulled his arm out of Oliver’s hold and started to rise. “Let’s get you coffee.”<br/>While Oliver stood – frown still in place – Connor snagged Oliver’s glasses from the low shelf they’d put them on last night. Turning to offer Oliver the frames, Connor instead shot out an arm when he saw Oliver start to sway.</p>
<p>+</p>
<p>A 2x13 Coliver Coda</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Morning

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/140535761853/a-2x13-coliver-coda-it-wasnt-until-streaks-of)

It wasn’t until streaks of orange and red started sneaking in through the windows that Connor realized he’d lost track of time.

For a while there he had been keeping an eye on it; craning his neck to sneak glances at Asher’s alarm clock every few minutes. But watching the clock, feeling the seconds slip away ever so slowly had started to make him anxious, make him see things in the shadows and hear things going bump in the night. Twice he’d gotten up to check and both times had been fruitless, an animal scurrying past the window and the unit’s furnace kicking on.

The second time Connor crouched back down to get settled on their makeshift bed and Oliver rolled over. He tucked in close at Connor’s side and hugged one of Connor’s arms to his chest.

“Sleep, Con,” he breathed out.

“I am” Connor whispered the lie. “You sleep.”

Oliver made a noise – protest or agreement Connor wasn’t sure which – and snuggled in closer. Connor tucked the blankets tighter around Oliver’s shoulder and stopped watching the clock to watch Oliver sleep instead.

Now, still watching Oliver with the sun beginning to rise, Connor saw Oliver scrunch his nose and tuck his face away in Connor’s arm to block the light.

“Morning, Ollie,” Connor whispered, so quiet it was barely audible.

With his face still hidden away in Connor’s arm, Oliver shook his head. “No.”

Connor’s smile was helplessly fond. “The sun says so.”

“The sun’s a bastard,” Oliver grumbled.

Biting his lip to hold back a chuckle, Connor kissed Oliver’s forehead. “Come on.” Connor gently pulled his arm out of Oliver’s hold and started to rise. “Let’s get you coffee.”

While Oliver stood – frown still in place – Connor snagged Oliver’s glasses from the low shelf they’d put them on last night. Turning to offer Oliver the frames, Connor instead shot out an arm when he saw Oliver start to sway.

“Woah.” Connor’s grabbed Oliver’s shoulder to hold the other man steady and Oliver reached out a hand to lean against Connor in return. “You okay?”

Slowly cracking open one eye and then the other, Oliver started to nod but quickly stopped and held up a finger to wait. He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Then another. Then another.

“Okay,” Connor whispered. He knew what was happening; this happened entirely too often lately. Glancing helplessly around at the others still sleeping away, he stepped in close and offered Oliver his glasses. “Here. Just…let’s go in the kitchen.”

Slipping the frames on, Oliver put a hand on Connor’s shoulder to steady himself and Connor led them slowly into the kitchen.

Leaning back against a counter, Oliver pushed up his frames to put a hand over his eyes. The “Sorry” he offered had a bite to it but it wasn’t directed at Connor. He was angry, helplessly frustrated with himself, with the meds, with this whole fucking situation.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Connor too leaned against the counter next to Oliver, subtly offering Oliver his shoulder to rest against. “Getting too old to sleep on the floor?” he tried to joke.

Oliver huffed a laugh, appreciating Connor’s tendency to try and make light of things. “I wish that were it.”

Connor nodded. He wished that were it too. “What the doc say about all this?” When Oliver didn’t answer right away, just looked away, suddenly very interested in the crap Asher had stuck to the side of his fridge, Connor bit back a curse. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Oliver closed his eyes. “It didn’t–”

“Damnit Oliver!”

“I told you. These are normal–”

“Don’t give me that. These are not normal side-effects,” Connor returned in a whisper that was edging close to scolding. He closed his eyes for a beat and took a breath; getting angry and lashing out wouldn’t do either of them any good right now.

“It is not normal for you to be this dizzy all the time. Or this nauseous,” Connor said calmly.

“I know,” Oliver said. They’d both done their research. Oliver knew this wasn’t normal. “But it’s not all the time,” he rationalized. “I just stood up too fast.”

“Really?” Connor lifted a brow. Oliver hadn’t moved an inch during their conversation and his shoulder was still leaning heavily against Connor’s. “You aren’t dizzy right now?”

Oliver started to shake his head but stopped when the room began to tilt around him. “No,” he lied.

“Ollie.” Changing tactics, Connor turned to hold Oliver’s face in his hands. “This isn’t good. This isn’t okay.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Oliver told him. “I can handle it.”

“It’s not about handling it.” Connor ran a thumb along Oliver’s cheekbone. “It’s not a test or something.”

“I know but it’s really not that bad, Connor. The…the episodes or whatever don’t last that long.”

“Really?”

“Yes. This one’s starting to go fade now.”

“Ollie–” Connor started.

“It’s true.” Oliver kissed Connor’s palm and hoped his lie didn’t sound as weak to Connor’s ears as it did to his own. “I’ll even spin around three times to prove it.”

Connor didn’t believe Oliver for a second but wasn’t about to ask him to actually spin around and have his boyfriend get sick in Asher Millstone’s kitchen. “Well, what about the nausea?” he asked instead, taking Oliver’s hands. “You didn’t eat anything last night.”

“Yeah. So, I didn’t eat a pizza bite. Send for the doctor,” Oliver mocked.

“No. I’m talking about our dinner,” Connor said, knowing full well Oliver knew Connor had been referring to the dinner they’d shared before heading over to Asher’s. “You didn’t eat anything.”

“I ate.”

Connor leveled him a look. “You were like a child. You ate two bites and then just moved everything else around.”

“Still, I ate something,” Oliver countered. He had eaten something; he just hadn’t eaten a lot.

“Oliver, come on,” Connor breathed out. “You’re getting more and more dizzy and you aren’t eating and it’s just–”

“I know! Alright!” Mindful of those still sleeping, Oliver kept his voice low but the harsh words still dropped like a bomb in the quiet kitchen. “I know all of this!”

He did know all of this. Why on Earth was Connor pushing all of this so hard? Oliver could handle it. He was fine. Everything was fine. He didn’t need his boyfriend mothering him about it every fucking minute. It was all fine.

“Then why aren’t you telling the doctor about it?” Connor asked, trying and failing to keep the anger out of his voice.

“Because! Because I…” Momentarily at lost for what to say, Oliver blinked at Connor and the anger he felt disappeared, as quickly and inexplicably as it’d arrived.

“Because it’s working,” Oliver quietly admitted. “The meds are working. My t-cell count is good and my last viral load showed improvement and it’s all working, Connor. It’s all good. The meds are doing what they’re supposed to. It’s working.”

“Ollie.” Connor cupped Oliver’s cheeks again and ran a thumb along Oliver’s jaw. Stubborn Oliver’s stubborn jaw. “It’s not working if you can’t stand on your own,” Connor whispered. Oliver cursed and stepped back, out of Connor’s arms. “It’s not working if you can’t eat dinner, if you can’t work. There are other meds you could try!” Connor dragged hand through his hair and crossed his arms to keep from reaching for Oliver again. “Truth. How bad does it get at work?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Liar,” Connor said but there wasn’t any heat in it. “How bad is it? All those screens? The lights?” When Oliver started to turn away, Connor reached out a hand to stay him. “It’s just me. Come on. Tell me.”

Oliver made himself look Connor in the eye. “It’s fine,” he said and Connor just raised a brow at him. “It’s…okay,” he tried. Connor cocked his head to the side and Oliver decided to stop lying. “It’s not great, I guess.”

“What does ‘not great’ mean?” Connor asked gently.

Oliver shrugged.

It meant that the dizziness was getting so that he was having to take more breaks than he used too, more breaks than anyone else in his department. It meant that, even though it was in the teens out, on the really bad days he was swapping the staff room for park a few blocks down at lunch because the biting air helped ease the nausea. It meant that Oliver suspected his cubicle mate knew something was up and was terrified his boss did too.

“It just means that things…they just aren’t great right now.” Oliver let out a shaking breath and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I hate this, Connor.”

Connor’s arms were quick to wrap around Oliver’s shoulders and pull him in close. “I know.”

“I fucking hate this,” Oliver bit out and buried his face in Connor’s neck.

“I know, Ollie.” Connor pressed a fierce kiss to Oliver’s temple. “I know.”

There they clung, wrapped around each other, as soft, morning sunlight began to fill the kitchen. Oliver held onto Connor’s shirt so tight his knuckles turned white. Connor held onto Oliver’s shoulders so fierce he was sure he’d leave marks, ten little red circles from his fingertips clutching Oliver close. They held fast until Oliver’s breathing steadied out again and Connor’s heart stopped pounding so hard in his chest.

“So,” Connor hesitantly began while they still clung. “Are you going to talk to her?”

“Yeah,” Oliver reluctantly admitted as he pulled back a bit. “I’ve got an appointment next week. I’ll talk to her then.”

“Okay. Good,” Connor said. He fisted a hand in Oliver’s shirt to pull his boyfriend back in for a kiss. “So, when is this appointment?” he asked against Oliver’s lips.

“Monday.”

“Monday. That’s good.” With one final kiss, Connor stepped back and asked, “So…can boyfriends come to Monday’s appointment?”

“Boyfriends can come but…” Oliver took a breath to stall a second. “But I told you before, I don’t need you to come and hold my hand.”

“I know. I want to come. Really I do,” Connor assured. “And besides,” Connor took Oliver’s hands in his, “Maybe I need you to hold my hand.”

Oliver’s mouth lifted with the hint of smile. “Well, in that case.” Lifting Connor’s hands, Oliver quickly kissed the back of each. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Connor shook his head; there was nothing to thank him for. “What time on Monday?”

Oliver’s eyes instantly filled with sympathy. “7:30.”

“At night?” Connor asked with disbelief. What doctor’s office was open so late?

Oliver shook his head once. “In the morning.”

“In the morning!?!” What doctor’s office was open so early? “Why Oliver?”

“They didn’t have anything after 5 and…” Oliver shrugged.

Connor’s frown was instant. They’d had this discussion before too. “You can use sick time for doctor’s appointments, Oliver. That’s what it’s for.”

“I know, Connor,” Oliver returned. “I just don’t want to.”

“So you’d rather get up at the crack of dawn on a Monday?”

“Look! You don’t have to come, okay?” Oliver said.

“Don’t give me that! I’m coming,” Connor told him. “I just don’t understand why–”

“Because I don’t, okay?” Oliver shot back.

Why couldn’t they manage to have a discussion about his diagnosis without fighting? It all seemed okay, then they were fighting, then they were back to okay, and then they fought again. It was just this endless cycle they couldn’t manage to break. Why did he always feel like he was attacking Connor or Connor was attacking him? Why did everything always come out so ass backwards when they talked about this? Maybe he shouldn’t have brushed off that clinic nurse’s suggestion of support groups so quickly all those weeks ago. Maybe talking to someone else could help.

“I don’t want to take sick time for every appointment,” Oliver explained slowly. “I don’t want to have to fill out the paperwork and…and deal with all the questions and the looks and…”

“You don’t have you tell them you’re positive, Ollie,” Connor reminded him.

“I know but…” Oliver pushed up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t dizzy anymore but he did have the beginnings of a headache.

He knew they couldn’t ask and he didn’t have to tell them but HR could ask for a note from his doctor and then maybe they might find out what she specialized in. Or his boss, who had to approve sick time, could tilt her head in that way that always reminded Oliver of his mother and innocently say, “You just let me know if you need anything, okay?” and Oliver would accidently let it all just slip out because something about that head tilt made him incapable of keeping secrets. Or his one of his coworkers could innocently ask if he’s feeling okay because “You’ve been out a lot this month” and Oliver would just tell them because he’s been sharing an office with these people since graduation and spends more time with them than he does with Connor or his family and, in so many ways, they are family. Besides, everyone was so supportive of Joy and her girlfriend last year when Joy let them know the cancer was back and maybe they’d all be like that for him too; maybe everyone would rally around and they’d raise money to buy them a gift card to Chili’s and put a schedule together to bring him casseroles. Maybe it would all be okay. But the possibility that it wouldn’t, that these people he saw every day would start to look at him differently, made Oliver’s blood run cold.

“This is just how I want to do things, Connor,” Oliver eventually said. “Just let me handle it.”

“Alright,” Connor breathed out. He wasn’t satisfied with it, Oliver had a right to use the time he’s earned for doctor’s appointments, but if this is what Oliver wanted to do Connor wasn’t about to fight him on it. Again. Especially in Asher Millstone’s kitchen with three of his classmates sleeping a dozen feet away. “Monday 7:30 am it is.”

Oliver nodded. “Good.”

Connor nodded as well but then couldn’t help but ask, “So, has anyone said anything at work?”

Puzzled, Oliver shook his head. “No. Why?”

“Just making sure,” Connor told him as they stood next to each other again, resting back against the counter shoulder-to-shoulder. “Want to make sure there’s no one we should be suing or something.”

Oliver chuckled as he shook his head. “There you go again. Talking like a lawyer.”

“I am a lawyer.”

“Not yet.” Oliver wrapped an arm around Connor’s shoulder and kissed his temple. “I don’t care if you are 87th in your class, you’re still a student.”

The comment made Connor think of Stanford and Michaela and a late night lie. “Hey, speaking of that, why’d you tell them?”

Oliver frowned. “Tell who what?”

“You know.” Connor gestured with a hand back to the living room. “Tell all of them about Stanford.”

“I didn’t know it was secret,” Oliver said truthfully. “I’d have thought you’d told them. Thought you guys told each other everything.”

“Yeah, I know. But…” Connor picked at an invisible fuzz on his shirt. “Just…just don’t tell them anything else.”

Oliver frowned again. “Alright but what else is there to tell?”

“I don’t know. Just…just don’t tell them anything.” Connor’s head whipped around at a noise from the living room. Someone was waking up. “Oh! And if Michaela says anything, I’m only 96th in the class,” he whispered frantically.

“What?” Oliver demanded quietly as they both heard the footsteps coming closer. “Why?”

“Because that’s what I told her,” Connor quickly explained. “Last night. We talked a little about Stanford and she asked and I told her I was 96th.”

“Okay. But why lie?” Oliver wanted to know.

“Because it matters more to her,” Connor told him with a shrug.

With that, Asher came into the kitchen, laughing to himself as he messed with his phone. “Hey guys!” he greeted with a wide smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Okay. For a floor,” Oliver told him just as Connor cut in with “What’s so funny?”

“Oh this?” Asher held up his phone, still smiling like a loon. “Facebook.” He tossed the phone on top of his microwave, hoping they’d drop it. “You guys want coffee? I’m making French toast.”

Oliver stepped out of the way as Asher started to make coffee. “You really don’t have to–”

“What are you talking about?” Asher asked with a grin. “Homemade breakfast is all part of the Millstone Safe House Experience. Now go sit down.” He waved Connor and Oliver over to his kitchen table. “I needs the room to work.”

Oliver and Connor sat at the table while Asher moved around the kitchen with a practiced air that surprised them both. He got the coffee going before grabbing a bowl of fruit salad and juice out of the fridge. The pair of them tried to get up and help set the table but Asher insisted they sit with a “I got this, guys.”

The coffee was just finished brewing and three of them were making pleasant, early morning conversation when Michaela came in with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“Morning, Prom Queen,” Asher greeted with a smile and Michaela glared at him.

“Coffee,” was all she said and somehow Asher smiled even wider.

“Take a seat.” He gestured to the table. “My man Walsh’ll set you up.”

With the barest of nods for Connor and Oliver, Michaela took a seat at the table.

“How’d you sleep?” Oliver asked Michaela while Connor passed her a cup of coffee.

“Lousy,” she answered and took a grateful sip of coffee. “One of you snores.”

Connor nodded and pointed a finger at Oliver as he popped a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth

“Hey!” Oliver protested. “I don’t snore.”

Connor snorted. “Oh my god. You totally do.”

“I do not!”

“Hate to break to you bro but you totally do,” Asher said from the stove.

“What do you know?” Oliver demanded.

“Aside from last night, I slept on your couch for like a week,” Asher explained. “The first night I thought a train was coming through the apartment.”

“You are all assholes,” Oliver grumbled into his coffee cup.

“No, Oliver, come on.” Connor put an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. “It’s not a bad thing. I still love you.”

“What does that even mean? You ‘still love me?’” Oliver wanted to know. “You still love me despite this huge flaw?”

“Don’t question him,” Michaela warned. “I wouldn’t still love you.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Connor told Oliver. “I will always love you but,” Connor hedged. “To be fair, I wouldn’t hate it if you wore those snoring strip things.” Oliver glared at him. “I’m just saying. You don’t have to.”

“Why has this never come up before?” Oliver asked him. “You have never mentioned this ever before.”

“I didn’t want you to get mad,” Connor admitted.

“You–” Oliver began but was interrupted when Asher bustled over with a plate of French toast.

“Okay. Round one,” Asher said as he set the plate down. “Watch yourselves. It’s hot.”

The snoring discussion got lost amidst serving toast and filling coffee cups and passing fruit and syrup and powdered sugar.

Laurel wandered in just as Asher was serving up round two. A round of “Good mornings!” when up as she took her seat but then the conversation dimmed a little.

Looking around, Michaela decided she’d have to be the brave one who asked after the missing sixth member of their tribe. “So, you heard from him?”

Laurel shook her head as she spooned the mix of berries and melon onto her plate. There hadn’t been any messages when she woke up and both calls she’d made before coming in had gone right to voicemail. She didn’t know if Wes was okay and the worry had kept her up half the night.

Determined to put it aside for the moment, Laurel turned to Asher, who was still manning the stove. “This all looks good,” she told him with a forced smiled.

“Thanks,” Asher said with a smile that wasn’t the least forced. “Millstone family recipe.” He turned the burner off with the flick of a wrist and took the last plate of French toast over to the table. “Anybody need anything?” When the four around his table shook their heads, Asher took a seat to eat. “Good ‘cuz you’re all on your own now.” He slid two pieces of toast onto his plate. “Can someone slide me the syrup?”

The five of them made pleasant, if inane, conversation while they ate and lingered a bit after they’d all finished. Milking their coffee for bit longer and picking at the food left, they determinedly enjoyed each other’s company, all ignoring the empty sixth chair at the table.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I got an ask about this and just wanted to clarify that Asher was messing with his phone when he came in because he'd just shot the video of Laurel sleeping. That's why he was laughing. Sorries that wasn't clear. My bad...
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


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